The Walls of the Universe

by Paul Melko

Then the padding of feet running away from the front door.

  “Bye-bye, Carson,” Prime whispered. He unlocked the apartment door, entered, and locked it again behind him.

  “I called the police,” Casey said. She’d not stayed in the bedroom like he’d said but stood in the kitchen with a second knife from the block.

  Prime smiled at her, and she smiled back.

  “Good thinking,” he said.

  John sunk his knife into the block with a thunk and pulled Casey into a tight hug.

  CHAPTER 20

  John Prime sat in his car outside his lawyer’s office, shivering. The rain had soaked Prime as he ran out, leaving his suit shirt clinging to his body. It was over, and he didn’t care.

  What was he going to do about Carson?

  The Rubik people had been so smug about it. They’d waited until halfway through the meeting to spring it.

  “We’ve decided to license the Cube directly through our agents in New York,” Lorraine Creifty had said. “We appreciate the… enthusiasm in your marketing plan, but we think a specialist, not a teenager with a high school diploma, can do a better job marketing it.”

  Prime’s rebuttal had been halfhearted. He had yelled, he had screamed, and he had thrown the prototype against the wall, splintering it into twenty-six smaller cubes.

  Not that it mattered. It had been spiraling down the toilet for three months.

  Just like Carson.

  Prime’s mind wouldn’t stop coming back to it. The fucker had been just outside their door. He had killed an animal. He was a psychopath.

  Not that Prime was any different. He’d killed before too. In self-defense. That was different.

  Creifty and her team pushed through the door of the law office. Through his fogged and streaked window, he watched them climb into a limousine. What had he been thinking? He was a kid, who’s been whisked away from his life. He’d tried to make something of it, but he was nothing, just some farm boy, who’d tried to get rich quick.

  What had he been thinking?

  He put his car into gear and began the long drive back to Findlay. He didn’t have the whole day off; he still had to work second shift at three in the afternoon.

  He cast Creifty one last glance. They thought they knew how big it was going to be, but they didn’t. He’d seen it. Nothing was going to prepare them for it. He shrugged. Let them have it. He didn’t care.

  He changed out of his soaked suit in the locker room. The tie was ruined, but the suit could be dry-cleaned. The one-piece shop floor coverall felt better anyway. He was just zipping it up when the locker-room door slammed open.

  “Hey, it’s the college basketball star! Oh, wait. He knocked up a cheerleader. That’s one way to be a star.”

  Prime glanced once at Carson and his pack of high school buddies, but he didn’t say anything. His heart was thudding in his chest, and sweat ran down his side from his pits.

  “How are those pom-poms, Rayburn? They still jiggly?”

  Prime didn’t reply. There were six of them, and it was just him, late for third shift by five minutes and the last one in the locker room.

  “Nothing to say? I didn’t think so.”

  Carson turned away, and that drew a spike of white hate from Prime’s heart.

  “Carson!” Prime said. He turned. “I found something of yours last night at my apartment.”

  An odd look passed across Carson’s face.

  “A cat,” Prime said. “Thought it was yours, since that’s the only kind of pussy you can get.”

  His friends laughed weakly, glancing at Carson, who glared.

  “Keep laughing, Rayburn.”

  Prime felt a moment of coldness as Carson walked off. He’d faced the bully down, but there was no joy in it. Things he’d have found satisfaction with were dull.

  He pulled on his safety shoes and walked out to the shop floor.

  Casey was sitting at the table, Abby bouncing on her knee, still awake, when he got home at midnight.

  Her hair was disheveled, she wore a sloppy T-shirt that read: “Cheerleader,” and there were dark circles under her eyes. Still his breath caught as he saw her. Passion combined with respect, and longing, and feelings he wasn’t sure of filled him.

  “What?” she said. “What’s wrong?”

  “I-I love you,” he said simply. He’d never been sure what that meant.

  Casey smiled and it was a sight that stopped him in the doorway.

  “Yeah, well, I love you too,” she said. “Even if you feel trapped.”

  “I was wrong about that, Casey,” Prime said. “I was so wrong.”

  “You got that right,” she said.

  He leaned in and kissed her. Abby grabbed at his collar with chubby hands.

  “How did the meeting in Toledo go?”

  “Worst possible outcome,” he said.

  “I’m sorry, John. Maybe if I’d given you more free time yesterday…”

  “Wouldn’t have mattered. They’d already made up their minds,” Prime said. “We don’t need them.”

  “I’m-”

  There was a scratching at the door, perhaps a pen digging into the wood.

  “Damn it, Carson,” Prime said.

  “Carson-?” Casey started.

  Prime threw open the door, and there was Ted Carson, something metallic in his hand.

  “Listen, John-”

  Prime reached for whatever was in Carson’s fist-a knife, a gun, a weapon. Carson jerked back, but Prime had his wrist. Only the meaty hand was sweaty and Carson pulled free. Teetering on the step to their landing, he grasped out for some hold. Prime’s hand refused to move, refused to grab Carson’s collar or his other hand. He was within reach, but Prime let Carson flail. In slow motion, Carson wheeled his arms and crashed down the stairs.

  “What’d you do?”

  He could have-

  “Did you push him?” Casey asked.

  Carson lay unmoving at the bottom of the steps. Casey took them two at a time and knelt next to him. She reached tentatively toward his neck. Prime watched as she felt for a pulse.

  “Don’t touch him!” he cried.

  She turned on him.

  “What have you done? What have you done?”

  “What do you mean? He was here to hurt us? It was self-defense. He fell!”

  “He’s not armed!” Casey whispered shrilly. “And now he’s dead.”

  “Dead?” Prime shuddered. Dead?

  “You killed a man. You killed Ted Carson, and now the police are going to take you away.”

  “No.” Prime scrambled backward until he was up against the table and chairs.

  “What am I going to do when you’re gone?”

  “He had a knife, didn’t he?” Though as Prime said it, he wasn’t sure. Carson had used it to dig at the door. He’d had it in his hand.

  Prime scrambled up. Where was the knife?

  There was nothing on their landing. There was nothing next to Carson’s body. Prime descended, and stepped over the body. Was it on the stairs? Was it under the body?

  He saw it, then, a glitter of metal under Carson’s leg.

  Prime rolled the body over. It was Carson’s car keys.

  Prime’s heart thudded. He stood there, desperate, angry, helpless. It was over. He’d ruined it all.

  He stared wild-eyed at Casey.

  He took a step for the stairs.

  “Stop.”

  He looked at Casey. She was staring at him with hard eyes.

  “Turn around. Grab him under the pits and drag him inside the apartment.”

  “What?”

  “Do it!”

  Prime turned and maneuvered the hulking corpse up the stairs and through their doorway. A trail of slimy blood, mixed with urine, slid over the doorjamb.

  “Onto the tile. Don’t leave him on the wood.”

  Prime dragged Carson into the kitchen. The blood glimmered red on the gray tile.

  Casey returned from the bathroom with a roll
of paper towels and a spray bottle of cleaner. She bent down and started scrubbing the floor.

  “Take a shower,” she said over her shoulder.

  “I can’t-”

  “Do it!”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m betting Carson didn’t tell anyone he was coming here,” she said simply. “I’m betting no one heard the racket. And I’m betting on your doing everything I say.”

  Prime found himself stripping down to nothing, climbing into the shower, and turning on the hot scalding water. He scrubbed himself clean, rubbing at the dashes and dots of blood that covered his arms and hands.

  When he pulled back the shower curtain, his clothes were gone, replaced with a simple white T-shirt and jeans. The apartment was empty except for Carson’s corpse. A note on the fridge said Casey’d be right back.

  The apartment smelled of bleach and blood. Prime leaned against the door and stared at the body.

  He jumped at the sound of keys in the lock.

  Casey stood there.

  “Where’s Abby?” Prime asked.

  “With my mom,” Casey said.

  “Isn’t she suspicious of why she needs to watch Abby at midnight?”

  Casey shrugged. “That’s what moms do; they do what needs to be done, and needle their daughters about it for the next month.”

  She tossed a bag from Hoffman’s on the kitchen table. Inside was a solid blue shower curtain and more cleaning supplies. The superstore had gone in near the interstate six months earlier, causing consternation among local shopkeepers, but none of them were open twenty-four hours.

  Casey handed Prime Carson’s car keys.

  “Find his car. Pull it around to our driveway, with the trunk even with the walk.”

  Prime nodded.

  The car keys were heavy in his hand. Two Hewitt keys adorned the ring, as well as a generic house key. A piece of polished metal proclaimed “Stud” in black metal. There was no remote car lock. Of course Carson would have the most common brand of car in this universe.

  Prime ran down the stairs and looked up and down the street. There were dozens of cars lining both sides. A lot of them were Hewitts: Trojans, Tempos, and Zeros, the cheapest cars on the road.

  He tried the first one in front of him. The door didn’t open. He tried the next. His fingers caught on the door handle, and he cursed.

  A car crossed the street two blocks down, and Prime realized it was a police car. Had the officer looked his way? Would he back around for a look? Prime realized he couldn’t just walk down the street and try every car.

  Which car was Carson’s? Prime stepped up onto the sidewalk. He walked slowly down the length of the block. Then back again. His eyes fell on a car with a factory parking-lot sticker, just like his sticker. The key fit; the door opened.

  There were open beer bottles on the passenger’s seat. The car smelled of mold. The dashboard was peeling. Prime hoped the car would start. He sat down and tried it.

  The car turned over without starting. He pulled back the key, taking his foot off the gas. He didn’t want to flood it. He tried again. Nothing. Once more.

  The car started, rumbling to life. Great, he needed a new muffler.

  Prime put it into gear. He realized he could run then, leave it all behind. He didn’t have the device, but he knew how to make a new identity. He could be rid of Casey, Abby, and Carson’s body. Run for it.

  The car purred as Prime goosed the accelerator. He pulled the car into the driveway of the apartment building, edging the trunk alongside the front path.

  He sprinted up the steps. Casey was at the door with the corpse wrapped in the shower curtain.

  “Take his feet,” she said. She left him there, walking past the door of their neighbor, listening for any noise. She shook her head. “All clear.”

  They dragged him downstairs, certain that at any moment someone would open the door and ask what they were doing. But no, the apartment was silent for once at one o’clock in the morning.

  Prime popped the trunk and they stuffed the corpse in among the nudie magazines, spare tire, and bow-hunting equipment.

  Casey slammed the trunk, and they stood there, watching the dark windows of their street. Prime saw nothing, heard no one. A long way off, a siren howled.

  “Get in; drive,” Casey said.

  Prime threw the car in reverse.

  “Slow down!” Casey shouted.

  “Oh, right.”

  “Don’t act stupid now.”

  Prime nodded.

  “Where to?”

  “Your parents.”

  “My parents?”

  “Just do it.”

  Prime nodded, steering the car toward the south end of town. The streets were empty. No one was out on a Thursday night. Findlay was shut down, and not even the police were patrolling.

  Prime hoped Carson didn’t have any outstanding tickets on his car. Now was not the time to be pulled over.

  Prime rolled down his window as they hit the county roads. Bugs spattered against the windshield. The cold October air cleared the stench from the car. He glanced over at Casey. She was staring straight ahead.

  They came to the turnoff toward his parents’ farmhouse.

  “Stop here. Don’t pull in.”

  Prime pulled off into the gravel. Casey took the keys, opened the trunk, and together they levered the corpse into the grass. They were on the edge of his father’s land, in the patch of trees where Prime had met Johnny Farm Boy the year before.

  Casey tossed the keys back at Prime.

  “Dump the car in the quarry. Roll down the windows. Pop the trunk. Push it over the edge. Roll it fast enough that it doesn’t snag on the way down.”

  Prime looked at her. “Have you been planning this?”

  “Of course not!” she said. “But I do read mysteries. Go.”

  Prime pulled away and in his rearview mirror he saw Casey dragging Ted Carson’s corpse into the trees. The quarry was right across the road, but the entrance was off Brubaker. Prime had spent a lot of time exploring the quarry; he knew it well.

  The gate was chained shut, but when he got out he saw that it wasn’t locked. The chain was just draped over the two ends of the gates. He pushed it open and drove the car through. He hoped no kids were hanging out drinking beers. He drove past the two prime spots for drinking. No sign of anyone. Then he drove the car to the overlook. The topsoil was gone, and the granite was white in the moonlight. Prime killed the headlights, dropped the car into neutral, and rolled down all the windows. He popped the trunk, then tossed the keys back onto the front seat.

  Then he got behind the car and pushed.

  At first, the car wouldn’t budge, and he had a moment of panic. What if the car was stuck? Then it shifted and began to gain momentum. The car rolled, faster, faster.

  He gave it one last push and it sailed into the abyss.

  He ran to the edge.

  The car splashed into the water. Bubbles erupted around it. Slowly it sunk. Prime watched the taillights disappear, and then waited until the roiling was smooth, until the car was totally submerged and on its way to the bottom.

  The quarry was one hundred meters deep. No one would find that car.

  Prime exhaled. They were halfway done. He turned and ran across the white stone. It gave way to green-black lichen, and then he was in the weeds, which smacked him in the thighs.

  The road was deserted. He paused, listening. Nothing.

  He ran across, pausing at the ditch.

  “Casey?” he called.

  Had a police officer come by, asked her what she was doing hauling a corpse? Had Ted Carson come back to life and throttled her?

  Prime stuffed down a nervous laugh.

  He heard the scrape of a shovel on dirt.

  He pushed through the row of wild blackberries. There was Casey, digging into the earth of a clearing among a half-dozen trees. The corpse lay beside her, motionless, still dead.

  There was another shove
l on the ground. Prime picked it up, and he realized that Casey had raided his parents’ barn to get tools. There were two shovels and a pickax.

  “Is the car gone?” she asked.

  “Gone.”

  “Good.”

  “Casey,” Prime started.

  “What?”

  “You’re doing a lot for me.”

  She stopped digging and stared at him. “For us.”

  “I’m sorry, Casey, that I’ve disappointed you. I’m sorry we had a child without-”

  “Shut up, John,” she said.

  “Casey,” Prime cried. “I’m not who you think I am.”

  “I think we’ve learned things about each other tonight that have pushed the limits,” she said.

  “No, I’m not John Rayburn,” he said. “I’m not from… this world.”

  She stepped out of the shallow hole she had started. Prime stepped in and picked up where she’d left off.

  “What do you mean? You’re some kinda alien? What?” Her voice was shrill.

  “No! I’m human. I’m from another Earth, like this but different.”

  “What do you mean?”

  So Prime told her as he dug Ted Carson’s grave. Prime started from the beginning, when he first met his own John Prime and was tricked into giving up his life. He told her about Oscar and Thomas. He told her about all the times he’d almost died. He told her about his schemes and ideas. He told her how he’d stolen this life from Johnny Farm Boy.

  When Prime was done, he was a foot and a half deep. She still stood outside the hole, staring at him, shovel in hand.

  “When?” she asked after a moment.

  “What?”

  “When?” she repeated. “When did you exchange places with my John?”

  “A year ago.”

  She raised the shovel. “Was it before we…”

  “Yes! Goddamn, yes. It was before he even talked to you. It was at the church dinner!”

  She exhaled, dropped the shovel. “Then you’re my John. He was never my John.”

  “He was here first…”

  “He never even talked to me! He never knew me.”

  “But-”

  “All your ideas-You stole them.” She laughed.

  Prime frowned, then laughed too. “Yeah, I’m just a thief.”

  She hopped into the hole on the far side of the grave and sunk her spade into the dirt.